Happiness is ... different things to different people. We asked Utahns of various walks of life to tell us about one of their joyful moments to share with you this Christmas Day.
Surrender
By Lynne Tempest
Three girlfriends and I were on a women's weekend in the San Rafael Swell. It was early fall and the days were rich in warmth, color and the laughter of great friends. We settled in for the afternoon on the banks of the river — one with a book, one off for a walk and one with a mud bath. I took my low lawn chair and secured it in the middle of the river between stones. As the water enveloped my body, the nape of my neck came to rest on the back rim of the chair. The sun warmed my face sufficiently for the rest of me to stay immersed in the cool water. Ever so slowly the river's current lifted my body. The only anchor, my neck on the back of the chair. The current moved to the left and my body, caressed by the river, moved left with it. Then a shift to the right and my body followed. This went on for a little less than an afternoon. No resistance. To the left. To the right. Center. Left. My body became the current. I was the river. I could hear my grandmother's voice, "Just go with it, Lynne." I finally understood her wisdom.
One afternoon of moving with the flow of a river brought a moment of clarity. Control is an illusion. Life has its own rhythm, flow. That afternoon gifted me with a deep happiness, a knowing in my body of a truth that would sustain me as children came through me and change became truly constant. In the embrace of the San Rafael River I experienced an authentic, trustworthy happiness. Surrounded by dear friends and my own solitude, I was idle and at ease with an open mind in a wild landscape.
Lynne Tempest shares the parenting of three young children with her husband Steve Earl. She is a former editor of Network Magazine and currently owns and operates Rubydo Publishing.
On the road
By Maureen O'Hara Ure
Traveling in Ireland and Scotland this past May with my husband Lincoln Ure . . . I think we take our best (wide-eyed and open-minded and extroverted) selves traveling . . . there were a number of times exploring Neolithic or medieval sites when we would be the only two people there. Often the conditions were so horrible — cold and muddy — it just added to the fun of our finally tracking down an obscure monument. In the evenings, we would end up talking politics and history with people at some pub, then back in the comfort of a B&B, Linc would read history out loud while I drew in my sketchbooks.
Maureen O'Hara Ure teaches art at the University of Utah. Her husband, Lincoln Ure, is an Episcopal priest and chaplain at St. Mark's Hospital.
Grandma dear
By Diane Nelson
One of the happiest moments of my life is when I became a grandma for the first time. You don't realize how strong those feelings are until it happens to you.
Diane Nelson and her husband, Jim, are the parents of three children and nine grandchilren.
Leave it to beaver
By Donna Kerr
One of my happiest moments was receiving a Silver Beaver award from the Boy Scouts. It meant that I had spent a lot of time helping a lot of boys. (It was funny, too, when I told a friend that I'd received a Silver Beaver and she thought my husband had bought me a fur coat.)
Donna Kerr and her husband, Rick, are the parents of two grown children.
The right stuff
By Natalie Ward
My happy moments come when my children do the right things without me having to tell them.
Natalie Ward and her husband, Lynn, are the parents of five children.
Climbing to new heights
By Karen Shepherd
Selecting a happy moment from decades of a wonderful life isn't easy. The holidays are a good time for me to give thanks for the great blessing that I have had so many happy moments that selecting one is virtually impossible. There are the big moments, of course: marriage, the birth of our children, their first steps, graduation, first real jobs, their accomplishments. Then there are all the energy and excitement of personal achievements and for those of my husband, Vince.
One of my happiest moments was when I climbed to the top of Mount Hood around the time I turned 50. We started at 3 a.m. with miner's lamps on our heads for light. I am not a climber. That was the first (and last) time I've held an ice pick in my hand and climbed, roped to others, measured step by measured step, up an impossibly steep ice field. Green, glassy sheets of ice were breaking and falling not many yards away. To reach the summit we had to traverse a one-foot wide ledge that dropped off thousands of feet below. Getting to the top was exhilarating beyond imagining. In sheer physical terms, it was the most difficult and dangerous thing I'd ever knowingly done. It required courage (more that I expected or wanted to have) and stamina (the reason I thought I could do it in the first place). I was transformed by being tested in that way. Others do this sort of thing every day with much less drama. But for me, I guess you could say this was a happy moment, because even though I didn't think I would, I lived through it. And nothing is better than living to tell the tale.
Karen Shepherd is a former member of Congress and former U.S. director at the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development.
Battle scar Metallica
By Nick Parker
It's Aug. 1, 2003. I wake up next to my dad in a Denver hotel. My friends Kyle Whitley and Colby Hake are huddled around the video game we brought along for the trip.
The Summer Sanitarium Tour is at Mile-High Stadium and we are about to see Metallica.
My dad drops us off in my trademark van, which had made the trip from Salt Lake City to Denver without a hitch.
When the opening band Mudvayne sings the words "Hold the hand of your best friend," the three of us embrace in friendly affection for one another and our love of music. I realize that this day would be the greatest of my life and that I would remember it for all eternity. I jump into the mosh pit. A veteran in the pit, I enjoy every minute of gleeful vehemence as men twice my size are knocked over by my pseudo-violent motions. The pit, despite popular belief, is not about violence and aggression, but a brutal way of brotherly release. When a member of the chaos is knocked to the floor, the participants try to help him up for another round. The sweet essence of friendly brutality brings a general euphoria in the name of music and lifestyle as I take it all in.
Once I jump out of the pit to reconnect with my friends, Kyle points out that I am bleeding. There are two globs of blood on my new Metallica shirt from a small gash along my arm. Apparently I was cut in the pit, and due to the chaos didn't even notice. Now I would have a scar to remind even the cloudiest of my memories.
After three other bands, a 5-inch, $6 pizza, three Metallica T-shirts at $25 a pop, and a little rest and relaxation, it is time for my favorite band of all time, Metallica.
When the first note of James Hetfield's guitar rings out, the three of us scream at the peak of our lungs' output capacity. We had waited five months for this moment, and it was finally coming to fruition.
It was the greatest concert I have ever been to.
Sixteen-year-old Nick Parker goes to Murray High and contributes to the Deseret Morning News' Pulse section.
Welcome
By The Rev. Janet L. Riley
My husband, John Lersch, and I served as co-pastors of three hispanic Presbyterian U.S.A. churches in northern New Mexico. The church in Chimayo was built beside the most intact Spanish colonial plaza in New Mexico dating from the late 1700s. In fact, the Christian Education building of the church was actually part of the original plaza, and an "acequia" or irrigation ditch ran under the building and resurfaced on the other side.
While serving the churches in New Mexico, John and I initiated the celebration of "Las Posadas," which was a re-enactment of Mary and Joseph looking for shelter in Bethlehem. Members of the congregation, neighbors and friends would gather in front of our little church, with two of our young people dressed up as Mary and Joseph. Mary would sit atop a burro borrowed especially for the occasion. We would begin our trek around the plaza, stopping at the doors where "los farrolitas," or luminarias, were burning. Each time we stopped, Joseph would knock at the door and explain that he and his wife, who was pregnant, were looking for shelter. The response came back each time, "No room in the inn. Move along." Even the short pilgrimage around the plaza was teacherous with plenty of ice and snow and a cold wind blowing. All of us longed to get out of the cold. Often, the donkey would startle from the noise of the crowd and Mary would have to hold on for dear life.
Finally, Mary and Joseph and all the rest of us would arrive at the front door of the church. Joseph knocks. But this time, instead of having the door slammed in his face, the door is opened and there is warmth and singing. After our brief worship in the sanctuary, we would head back outside and walk over to the Christian Education building where the feasting would begin. We would have posole (pork and hominy cooked together), bischochitos (anise seed cookies) and hot chocolate. The grand finale was the children bursting the pinata and scrambling for candy.
This simple but profound celebration brought home in a very real way the struggle many people have each day just to survive. How difficult it is to be turned away just when our needs are greatest. No room in the inn. My happiest memories are those times when I have received unexpected hospitality from those I least expected to receive it from. I hope this holiday that we all have a chance to reflect on times we have been the recipient of the hospitality of strangers.
The Rev. Janet L. Riley is pastor of the Springville Community Presbyterian Church.
The circle of love
By Joy Gardner
The Holiday season is like a circle of love. As we give love and joy, somehow the love is returned back to us. Four years ago, I saw how this circle of love works in my own family. To begin, my family has a tradition of the 12 days of Christmas. Anonymously, each year we would choose a family and for 12 days before Christmas we would leave a gift at their door, ring the doorbell, hide and watch as they retrieved their anticipated gift. All of my siblings took part in this adventure, sometimes hiding underneath cars and always wearing black to blend into the night so not to be caught. We looked forward to this tradition every holiday season . . . the excitement of spreading joy.
It was four years ago that my younger brother, Chet, passed away in a football-related accident. He was 18 years old. My family struggled as the holiday season approached, realizing that Chet was so obviously not with us. To our surprise, 12 days before Christmas, our doorbell began ringing, and little gifts were appearing on our doorstep. We were touched that someone would think of our family. On Christmas Eve, the doorbell rang and my whole family ran to the door to finally see who our "secret Santa" was. Tears streamed down our faces as carols were sung by three different families who we had once done the 12 days of Christmas to. They knew that this Christmas would be a hard one because of Chet's death just a month before. So they came together to keep this simple tradition alive, giving us some of the love we once gave to them.
Joy Gardner is a singer/actress and music instructor at Brigham Young University. She plays Laneah in the LDS movie, "The Testaments." She and her husband, Quin, are parents of a daughter, Noel.
Enjoy the present
By Michael Dowdle
As I reflect on the "happiest time of my life," I recall many wonderful days. The day I came home from my (LDS) mission; the day I married my wife, Eve, and the days my children were born. Much of the joy in life comes from the memories of the sweet fellowship of the past with parents, brothers and sisters, grandparents, family. True joy and happiness has nothing to do with "things" but everything to do with people and relationships. Every "sweet" day of my life is centered on some event surrounding a dear one. We spend so much time pursuing the "things" of life and forget that love and people are the only way to happiness. I can't think of the "happiest day." I'm sure it is somewhere in the future. But in the meantime, I will enjoy many wonderful, happy days with those I love.
Michael Dowdle is a guitarist known for studio work as well as his own recordings of everything from jazz to LDS hymns. He and his wife, Eve, are the parents of four children.
E-MAIL: kclayton@desnews.com